


Hide your eyes

by Asaliz



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Another version of their death, Azran Legacy Spoilers, Blood, Eternal Diva Spoilers, Gen, Last Specter Spoilers, Miracle Mask Spoilers, The warnings aply only to the first chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-01-16 21:27:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12350955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asaliz/pseuds/Asaliz
Summary: He hated his eyes. He couldn’t stand them.He saw them on the mirror looking back at him and he saw the eyes of a murderer.Their murderer.Why did he have to inherit his eyes?





	1. Nameless

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn’t sure if I should write this story, there are a lot of fanfics about Desmond… But I wanted to give a little more of backstory to his wife, something I haven’t done in other stories.  
> This time I choose a name and description for Desmond’s wife. The name should sound you familiar. But I will explain a little more in the final notes.

He hated his eyes. He couldn’t stand them.

He saw them on the mirror looking back at him and he saw the eyes of a murderer.

Their murderer.

Why did he have to inherit his eyes?

For a moment, to rip out his eyes from his eye sockets with his bare hands sounded tempting.

But that would be plainly stupid.  He didn’t need more things to regret later.

Instead, he pulled off the mirror from the wall, and threw it away.  That solved nothing, but he also proceeded to take and threw every single thing he could find on the room. And when he finished with that room, he moved to the next one.

Soon almost the entire house was a total disaster. He broke everything he could find. It sort of helped a little with his anger and despair. Not much, but he didn’t knew what to do.

Raymond just watched him in silent and made no attempt to stop him.

The only room left yet untouched by him was the living room. He should past trough it if he wanted to leave the house. But he wasn’t sure if he was yet ready to smell the blood again. To see the motionless bodies, left like broken dolls.

“Should we bury them?” Raymond asked so weakly.

But the silence on the house was absolute now, and he heard him perfectly.

Silence.

He could only hear his and Raymond’s breathing.

Silence.

He won’t hear their voices ever again.

He didn’t answer, but went to find a shovel, crossed the room without looking at them - what was left of them – went to the small garden, and started digging. This house was very new. They moved relatively often. He thought he could keep them safe that way. He had been wrong.

So wrong.

While he dug he recalled the events, uselessly. As if remembering he could change anything.

 

He was careful when trying to avoid Targent. But as his name and research became more and more famous, the encounters started to happen more and more often. He always refused to cooperate.

And he always managed to stay alive. A pair of bruises now and then.  Broken bones, just a couple of times.

He was sure they didn’t know about his family. He was sure.

He had been too proud when he refused to work for them. He hated them, after all.

And now his hate was such that almost made him sick. It was almost unbearable.

Once again, his life has changed for worse on a single day.

But it actually started a week ago. A Targent agent told him something that caught his interest.

“Our leader wishes to speak with you. He said you will probably refuse. But if you come, you can meet your father.”  The man was dressed with the typical Targent uniform, and he had a heavy gun with him.

By now he expected both of his parents to be dead; the hope of finding them alive has faded with time. Was his father still a prisoner? His mother was not mentioned. Was she still alive?

Why didn’t they offer this earlier? Were they lying? But maybe he was not recognized before. It was long ago, he had a different name…

He was curious. But he wished he hasn’t learned the truth.

His disgust was immense when he was reunited with their leader, he took off his sunglasses, and he saw his eyes.  Like his own eyes.

His father was their leader. He couldn’t say he was happy of finding him alive like this.

Anyhow, they were face to face; he was in a dangerous place. He could at least listen to him. He didn’t have many options…

He asked about his mother, and he told him she died, but she had asked him to follow his dreams. He said he _sacrificed_ everything for this goal.

But Desmond wondered if he hadn’t practiced those lines before he told him. It sounded so fake.

He wanted to scream at him.

_You didn’t sacrifice anything. You throw it away!  You throw us away!  You are fine and yet you are here with your kidnappers! You left us! You didn’t try to contact me until now, because I can be useful to you!_

But thinking well about it, it was a bad idea if he wanted to leave alive.

“So I see you think the Azran civilization can offer something good” He said cautiously.

Bronev started talking about all the good things the Azran technology could bring to humanity. While he talked, Desmond saw the same kind of fanaticism he has only seen on people talking about their gods.

He should have known in that moment...

He refused. But even if he spoke softly and politely, his words were like poison.

“Are you sure you don’t want to do this for your family?”

For a moment, he assumed he was trying to convince him by using their blood link as an argument. But he asked anyway. And Bronev’s answer confirmed his fears.

“Your wife and child could be benefited too.”

But he had been too proud. He refused once more.

He was sure he had done everything carefully to keep them safe and hidden.

He had been so sure.

He has been so stupid.

 “Then there is nothing more to discuss. We won’t ask you again.”

He knew something was wrong in that moment. Especially when they left him go unharmed.

Something was amiss.

When he finally arrived home… He was sure no one followed them. But there were Targent agents outside his house –their house –

And Bronev was there too.

But even then, he wasn’t prepared. He supposed they would be taken prisoners. Maybe his daughter would be forced to see the same events he saw as a child, and be left alone.

He was familiar with Targent’s methods. Or he thought he was.

Maybe he had been too blind to accept things.

How did he allow himself to be so blind?

Had it been a stupid hope when he saw it was his own father?

It was so obvious he was not the same man who was taken along with his mother so long ago.

He had seen madness in his eyes.

It was so obvious then.

_Why had I been so stupid?_

Targent’s methods had changed since he was a kid. And they changed for worse.

They were just waiting for him to come, and they left when he saw him, still far away. Bronev didn’t bother in talking with him.

Then he understood what he would find inside.

He ran the rest of the way to the slightly ajar door, desperate.

He was more desperate than he had ever been before. Raymond followed him closely.  He said something, but he wasn’t listening.

The metallic smell of blood anticipated the scene. He opened the door violently.

They were against a wall. The woman he loved, lifeless, hugging tightly their also lifeless daughter, as if is the last thing she tried it had been to keep their child calm. Their faces were buried on each other’s shoulders.

The bullets had left holes on the walls. On their flesh.

There were bullet holes in various places. They haven’t used common pistols, but machineguns.

And the blood on the ground seemed like a small crimson lake.

Butchery.

The smell almost made him sick. It filled the air along a faint smell of gunpowder.

He couldn’t remember what happened between that moment and the moment he started breaking everything he could find, after finding his reflect on the mirror looking back at him.

 

The grave was deep enough now, but he kept digging a little more. Just for the sake of doing something.

He was tired, but he helped Raymond to carry the lifeless bodies, covered in a blanket, together. He just felt he couldn’t left them to rot inside the house, but yet burying them has no real meaning to him, nor for her. They didn’t pray to any god.

As he tossed soil to cover the grave, he remembered the day he met her.

 

“Mister… Sy-ca-more?”  She asked cautiously, trying to pronounce his name correctly. She was a thin, tall woman. Slightly taller than him. Her eyes were dark. She got tan skin. Yet her hair was ginger. It was not unusual among the locals, they had bronzed skin, but their hair was light.

“Indeed. And you might be…?”

“My name is Mehri.” She got a heavy accent, but he understood her perfectly, “I have been call because you need a translator and a guide”

He was expecting someone older; he was looking not only a translator able to speak different dialects, but someone familiar with the terrain in different areas.

 “Do you think you are qualified?”

“I’m used to guide tourists. I have been told you are here for research purposes.” Her tone was slightly… accusatory?

It was a little funny, if he thought about it. Or it had been, if he wasn’t feeling so empty.

At first they distrusted each other.

She was asking too many questions, and he suspected for a moment she might be related with Targent. But there was no one else available for the job. Raymond would think he was a little paranoid, he didn’t know that much about Targent back then.

Later she would explain him, when she heard he was looking for ruins, she believed he might be one of those persons who looked for ancient relics to steal them and sell them to private collectors.

It was a reasonable suspicion; she expected a research team for that kind of work. But he liked to work alone (not counting Raymond). He was already looking for Azran ruins. His name was slowly starting to become famous in the field, but he tended to distrust people.

He knew he was not going to work for Targent –sooner or later they were going to appear-, but if he worked with someone else, what assured him Targent won’t take them?

Anyway, he published various papers. Gaining fame put him in danger, but at the same time gave him a certain safety. Someone famous is more difficult to make disappear silently, and Targent was a clandestine organization. It was not convenient for them to be on the spotlight. But it was not wise either to push his luck and expose them directly.

It was like a complicated chess game. Both players moving their pieces carefully.

When he started to care for her, he regretted involving her. But for once in his life, he found something else besides his plans for revenge.

He told her about the danger. But, just like Raymond, she probably didn’t take it so seriously. Maybe she understood a little more, later, when she saw his injuries a couple of times.

But they were in love.

It sounded selfish now.

Now he couldn’t stop thinking _he_ has lead them to their dead.

Should he have stopped searching for the Azran when he got married? When their daughter was born?

 

He was in front of the new grave.

He was nameless for the second time on his life.

But this time, he did not give his name as gift. He buried it. Even if his own body was not on that grave, he felt he buried Desmond Sycamore along them. He was burying the man who just lost them and was unable to protect them. He didn’t want to be that man anymore.

And this time…This time he had no hope of finding the ones he lost.

It was not possible this time.

They were gone forever.

 

He proceeded to look inside the house again, to search for anything he might need. He wasn’t sure if he would keep some old photos. He figured he would. He was not planning to come back to this house ever again, and he would regret it later.

There were no papers or documents related with the Azran in the house. It has been another useless attempt for keeping them safe.

He regretted not being more careful. But maybe he should regret being so careful, because in the end it had been useless, and maybe he could have spent even more time with them.

But he didn’t need those useless thoughts.

Between the broken things, he found a pair of glasses with red frame. No one had needed them: one of Mehri’s clients had forgotten them, and their little daughter used them to play. The glass was crushed, but he tried them and looked his reflection on a piece of mirror on the floor. He felt he looked a little different with them, for some reason, his eyes seemed different enough inside the frame. He decided to keep them.

 

He heard Mehri’s voice in a memory, suggesting him:

“You should hide your eyes too.”

He was trying a wig with a different hair color; he sometimes used to wear costumes when he was certain Targent would be looking for him.

“They will recognize you easily if you don’t. And the wig doesn’t match with your eyebrows.”

“I know; I was going to wear sunglasses.”

“Can I play with these ones?” But their little girl was already wearing not one, but two wigs, one over the other.

The memory faded, he felt he couldn’t remember their laughs.

 

_You should hide your eyes._ He repeated for himself. He didn’t want to see his eyes. He figured he would hide them somehow when he could. He didn’t want to use sunglasses. Bronev used sunglasses.

 

He didn’t really know what else to keep. A couple of crayon drawings. Some old toys. He picked some random items. He could decide later what he would keep for real. He was not coming back.

He wanted to leave this place.

 

He didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t just start again once more.

No as long as Targent existed. They have stolen his life not once, but twice.

Why didn’t they take them prisoners?

Because they didn’t wanted only his obedience.  They wanted his loyalty.

They wanted not only his cooperation, but for him to believe in their cause.

But then, _why?_

_Why haven’t they killed me too?_

Because he was too useful.

Bronev was just like a mafia boss, he was successful in making Targent a big organization, gaining power and resources. But he was a lame archeologist. Even with all his resources, he has found more about the Azran in his lifetime than Bronev on his time inside Targent.

Then, should he stop looking now?

_No._

He had to stop them or everything would be meaningless. He had to find the Azran legacy before them, and show them they were wrong. He knew they were wrong.

Killing Bronev and a couple of agents won’t solve anything; there would be others to replace them.

He had to prove them wrong.

Sadly, for this he will have to be Sycamore again. But it will feel like a costume.

He needed another name. He will find one later.

He will realize later he also buried part of his sanity that day. Or maybe he lost it when he saw the blood. But he was sure of one thing.

He knew _he had to_ defeat them.

_By any means necessary._


	2. Mask

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems I cannot leave things unfinished, so here is another chapter.

Memories.

_Useless memories._

Useless memories plagued his mind.

But memories were all he got left.

 

“You haven’t told me your name yet.”

“What?”

“I only know your surname.”

“I can say the same about you.”

“No. Mehri is my first name. I haven’t told you my last name, actually.”

He felt such familiarity was inappropriate. But perhaps it was not inappropriate in this culture? Anyway, he should ask for her complete name… He was about to say something, but she added softly, as if she knew he was going to complain.

“I’m not fond of my father’s last name. Please call me Mehri” She didn’t sounded upset or anything. It sounded as if she was used to explain it.

He didn’t felt like asking further then.

He knew what it was like to leave a name behind.

_Now more than ever._ A thought interrupted the memory.

“Let me guess, your name is… Jean.” She continued

He wondered why she said that name, or if she had meant to say something more common, like John.

He didn’t remember the rest. He hasn’t thought about it in a long time. Perhaps he told her his name, perhaps he complained about something. It wasn’t long since they knew, and they still didn’t trust each other.

Perhaps things didn’t even happen exactly like that. The words might have been different.

Memories tend to change with time, and yet for us things are just like we remember them.

 

He still needed a last name. He didn’t want to waste too much time on it.

Between the things he has kept, he found an old book. Its pages were not so white anymore. It was a botany book. There have been many on their house; it was one of Merhi’s interests. He had kept some of them because they could be useful. They described uses of various plants and fungi.

She also had a small collection of rare books from almost unknown authors. Some were in languages she could not even read. Maybe they were not even very accurate, those were just a hobby.

But he picked this old one not because it was useful or rare. It was in Aisha’s room and it was one of her favorite books: despite being old, the book had color pages with illustrations.

She had taken it once to copy the flowers for her drawings, and since then that book was almost always in her room, and not with the other botany books in the library.

She liked plants. She liked to draw. But children’s interest change quickly at that age.

He will never know what she would have been if she had grown up. Would she have been a botanist? Would she been a translator like her mother? Would she have been an artist?

But those thoughts will do nothing for him.

Inside that old book he found more crayon drawings. Colorful plants. He read the name of the botanist on the cover. An uncommon last name. Descole

That will have to do.

 

_Jean Descole._

 

An unusual choice, perhaps. He wanted to leave his past behind, yet he chose a name that still connected him with the ones he lost.

But only he knew of that connection. That made it more unique. After all, he would never forget them. He will live to regret he was unable to save them.

He will get his revenge.

 

Along with his name, he got a new appearance. He had to look different is he wanted to be someone else.

It sounded silly if he said it out loud.

The mask was the most important item. It hid his eyes. Unlike normal masks, it had darkened lenses in the eyeholes. He could see, but his eyes could not be seen. And he would not see his eyes either if he looked himself on the mirror. There were beautiful masks of all types, but he chose a simple white one, instead of one more decorated.

He would start wearing it even when it was not _necessary_. Just like the glasses when he was acting as Sycamore. In case his skin got tanned irregularly, he could always use makeup.

The rest of the attire was accessory, meant to be distracting. Just like illusionists distract their audience from what they should look to discover their tricks. The hat had earflaps. He had cut and dyed his hair too. He had a wig with his own natural hair to wear when he was Sycamore. When he was alone, he liked to look like a different person.

At last, the feather boa and the cape. The sword was both useful and for dramatic effects.

He had to project confidence if he wanted to convince people easily. At first, almost every line he said was rehearsed, it made things easier. But with time this demeanor will become more natural to him. More real.

With time he turned more and more into this new character.

There was a really small part of him that expected Raymond to leave and be away from danger. But his selfishness won, and he was grateful to have his company. He appreciated him more than he had appreciated his adoptive parents.

They were not bad people, but he just never got too attached to them. At first he felt he was adopted as some sort of trophy for being smart. His intellect was notorious even before he left Hershel with the Laytons.

They wanted Hershel, “the smart one”. But it was the only way to keep him away. Fortunately, they were good people. He kept a track on them when he got the chance.

The Sycamores were a rich boring couple, they travelled often, and he sometimes preferred to stay home studying the Azrans or anything useful rather than being with them. Perhaps it was because he was older and he still remembered his parents and he felt he would betray them.

An insane grin formed on his face when he remembered that.

_How ironic_

Raymond came to work as a butler for the family when he was a teenager.  He would start trusting him more than he trusted others. He didn’t know why.

Sometime later his adoptive parents died. An accident on one of their travels.

He would have been on his own once more if Raymond hasn’t been there.

 

But it was time to go back to his work. He had to. It was part of his plans.

He was apparently the same person that left. But except for the glasses, others were not meant to see any changes. Not many persons knew about Mehri and Aisha on his work.

Only Raymond and he were left to remember them. She had no other family, and just like him, she did not trusted people easily.

He had tried to keep them away from archeology. From the Azran. From Targent.

_But it has been a failure._

At least people won’t pry, and pretend to be sad about it. He didn’t wanted pity. He didn’t want to see the same look people gave him when he was a lone child yet to be adopted.

_Only Raymond and I are left with memories of them_.

_It won’t be very different if I died._

Other than Raymond, other people would just pretend to be sad. No one else knew him for real. The other ones who would have cared were gone. His brother has long forgotten him. The man he once called father…

Would his mother have been different?

Was her death natural? Perhaps she was poisoned by Targent’s agents, so her death would have seemed natural. Or perhaps Bronev lied to him and killed her?

He will never know. Knowing won’t change anything.

His hate couldn’t increase more.

Truly, he hasn’t taken the time to mourn them properly, other than breaking things on their house; he just started slowly developing his plan.

He should have been the one Targent killed. That was a possibility he always assumed, and had made previsions for them to have a good life it case it happened. But it has been useless.

Targent haven’t killed him. And he would make them regret it.

Once he gathered enough information and clues, it was time to start for real.

The board was on place already.

_Time to get and place the pieces_.

_I will need some pawns.  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is no particular reason behind the name Aisha, but it seems most of the names from Mossinia’s inhabitants are from Arabic or Persian origin, I just looked for a name in one of those internet sites with names for babies.  
> Looking for a reason for the name, I found Descole is a real surname. I always assumed it was a misspelled word or something like that. The Idea of this fanfic is to give more backstory to his family, so I wanted to make a connection between the name and them.   
> It’s a good chance to talk a little more about Raymond too. 
> 
> Next chapters will be mixed with events of the games, but from Descole’s POV. I will add the spoiler tags as the story progress. There will be probably just 6 chapters in total.


	3. Bothersome

He took his time to plan everything carefully, yet there were difficulties.

Too many things bothered him.

For instance, Jakes was a necessary but partially incompetent “ally”. Simple-minded people like him were easy to use, but they could ruin things too. He certainly did ruin some things.

The stupid manatee was making things unnecessarily slow. He didn’t know _why_ he just didn’t get rid of it. It would have been easier.

Also, the woman who discovered he was an impostor and had to be taken care of. It was certainly better to have less people on the house, it just bothered him things didn’t went according to the plan.

It bothered him to have to keep an eye on the hostages himself. He didn’t trust that idiot police chief to do that simple task properly. And he couldn’t just ask Raymond to do it; he was doing enough by just staying with him. So he kept them in the cellar to have them close while he kept the mayor watched.

But he had to pretend to be the old butler, and _pretend_ to do some work or the maid would suspect too. That was certainly annoying.

He was glad no one reminded him of them. They didn’t look alike.Their voices were not similar. Their demeanor was not similar.

_They are nothing alike._

And that was good.

He didn’t need useless memories to distract him.

But as time passed, he didn’t know how much he cared about anyone… Even if they have reminded him of them, he would have done it all the same.

Like the two orphaned siblings left alone to their own devices. It brought him memories of a more distant past. The man playing as the mayor dared to ask about them only once after his raged answer. He told him he had enough people to worry about and shouldn’t waste his time on others if he wanted to keep them safe. He didn’t know if it bothered him _because he cared_ about those memories, or because it made him realize _he didn’t care anymore_.

Either way, he was always annoyed.

In other circumstances, he should have felt a certain admiration for all of them. The old butler certainly _tried_ to fight back.

_But that didn’t really help him very much_.

The woman looked at him with a certain challenging expression, sometimes – Or perhaps it was only hate? – But she couldn’t actually do anything, either.

The kid was certainly smart. While everyone in town only feared this creature of legend – The specter – he had managed to predict the attacks. But he performed his role as a butler well enough for him, and the boy trusted him with the predictions.

At least the man was easy to manipulate. A small reminder about his wife’s and butler’s situation now and then was more than enough to keep him under his thumb. Perhaps he threatened him more than he really needed to, but it was a good way to forgot bad mood for a moment, after every unsuccessful search. Jakes was too stupid to even understand subtle critics with his poor intellect. But it was still satisfying to mock him.

He worried when the boy continued with his predictions _without leaving the house_.  And the kid won’t tell him how he managed to do so. He couldn’t just lock him in the cellar too. He was a hostage too –Even if he didn’t know −and the threat of taking him away too was more than enough to be sure the man won’t disobey.

Locking him for no apparent reason… Didn’t seemed like a good strategy.

He had to keep the man with fear, but pushing things to an extreme could be disastrous.

He would prefer not to… If the man grew too desperate and disobeyed, he _will_ have to perform his threats or he would lose credibility…

And then…

But he _was not_ like Targent.

When everything was over, he would have destroyed a great part of this town, but in the end this stupid man would be with his stupid family unharmed. Townspeople won’t be harmed unless they were stupid enough to pry at night.

It was not his intention to leave bleeding bodies on the floor for someone to find them. He just _had to_ find the ruins and leave. End of story. Nothing else should matter. Nothing else needed to occur if everything went according to the plan.

As long as there were not more mishaps, like the one with Barde…

That was not his fault.

Nothing else needed to occur if everything went according to the plan.

He was going to defeat Targent this way. That was more important than anything.

He had to admit, breaking things with the machine brought him a certain satisfaction too. While not finding what he was looking for just frustrated him.

And things were taking longer than he expected.

When he felt he was _really_ starting to lose his patience, his plan encountered another problem.

Should he have been more surprised when Layton appeared on the door?

_Perhaps I should have locked that boy too_. He thought when he heard about the letter.

It was too late for regrets.

He was already there; he could be useful, why not?

Or at least he would keep him busy for a couple of days. He had kept the events occurring in the town relatively secret by using Jakes, and Layton leaving could mean he will comment the news outside. And that would be inconvenient.

But that was not everything…

He was his brother. The living proof of another failure in his life.

_Or perhaps an incomplete achievement._

He had managed to give him a better life by leaving him with the Laytons, but he had wanted to keep him away from the Azrans too. As if destiny was mocking _him_ , his brother became an archeologist too, seemingly because a stupid friend of his was looking for _Azran_ ruins, and then disappeared.

If he believed in such things, he would have thought his family was cursed, and destined to be affected by the Azrans.

But he didn’t believe in such things.

How much did he really care about his brother at that point? He had kept a track of his life, but they haven’t spoken to each other since the day he left their house with the Laytons. He was a grown man now. He shouldn’t care anymore.

He had left him also because he wanted to study the Azrans alone and he would be a burden, right?

He _should_ have stick to that plan since that day, instead of thinking he could marry and have a normal life.

Caring for others has brought him nothing good in the end. He shouldn’t worry about anyone…

Why was he even thinking about it, then?

Even the people he was threatening knew his own brother better than him…

 

In the end, things just didn’t go according to his plan.

Jakes proved to be useless. At least he distracted Layton for some time. He certainly enjoyed the competition against his brother… and he would have enjoyed it more if he had won.

He started to destroy the town. He couldn’t finish that, however.

The digging machines were stopped; with the help of a bunch of brats!

Even if he had to flee, he projected a confident image. He was not going to admit a failure out loud. It was part of his character.

 

Time passed, and he was already planning his next move.

But when he read on the newspapers Layton had found the Garden of Healing… He spoke calmly, but it bothered him. Not only had someone else defeated him –he was used to be the one succeeding against Targent− but it was his own brother.

If there had been a chance Targent was not paying attention to him, it was completely gone.

_Well, he could be useful in the future!_

 

Why did he still care?

He shouldn’t.

They didn’t really knew each other anymore. None of them were the little kids on that empty house anymore.

He didn’t even remember him. And he shouldn’t.

 

_Why should I still care?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t really know if Descole allowed Luke to send the letter on purpose to drag Layton to the town or if it was unplanned; I used the second option here.  
> I decided to mention Layton this time; I don’t want to force every single event to make him remember his wife and daughter. His attitude towards Layton is a little contradictory sometimes…
> 
> I wonder why he didn’t kill Loosha from the beginning, I usually choose to think he put his own limit in not killing (At least with premeditation, it has been pure luck he didn’t kill Layton or Luke on a couple of occasions. I wonder how he would have reacted if he had really killed one of them in one of his moments of rage.)
> 
> It took me some time to decide how to do this chapter. I have written about the events in Misthallery in different most of my fanfics; from different POV; I feel I’m starting to be repetitive.


	4. Memories

The man was desperate to find a way to keep his daughter alive. She was ill.

A mysterious illness.

_How inconvenient._

He needed her to perform the song to raise Ambrosia. But she was too weak for it. Find a cure seemed impossible, he was no physician. But he did what he could to keep her alive for a little longer, at least while he finished the machine to extract her memories.

When he introduced himself to Whistler, the composer, he did it as a scientist. He kept his aura of confidence. That always helps convincing people. This time he didn’t need to resource to violence. But it was a resource to use in case everything else failed.

The disease seemed to affect her lungs, so he kept them in the island where he was looking for the ruins of Ambrosia. The air was certainly purer than in London or any big city. That would give her some more time while he finished the machine.

He didn’t give the composer any details of why he was offering his help, and the man did not ask. It sure sounded shady: a machine to copy someone’s memories. But the promise of keeping his daughter with him was enough. And he was desperate. That was important: no many questions asked; no much reflection about what would happen later. No big lies were necessary to convince him.

The man accepted to extract and keep her memories and implant them in someone else.

_Poor fool._

As if having her memories implanted artificially would mean she was alive again. People just die and you have to deal with it. You cannot change it, no matter what you do.

But her memories and skills it’s what he needed, so he was not sharing these thoughts.

He made sure to taught Whistler how to operate the machine correctly. He didn’t need to really meet the young woman; he had enough by knowing she was able to perform the song. He supervised the extraction, though.

She was already too weak to speak, but her memories were extracted successfully. No much time later, she died.

He only briefly asked himself again: _What would she have wanted to be if he had grown up? She never showed a special interest in music._ They have seen operas a couple of times…

He had no time for what-ifs. When was the last time he had actually seen the photos he kept of them? But he remembered their faces so clearly…

He had no time to get distracted.

He didn’t want his useless memories to distract him. But those memories made him what he was. They only served to fuel his anger and wish for revenge. At this point, he felt he had no other reason to live other than revenge, and no reason to stop until he succeeded – or died trying -

But then again, why did he sometimes thought about his brother and kept track of his like? He didn’t really know…

He couldn’t let pass too much time, the memories won’t last that long in the machine. And the first attempts were unsuccessful… It was time for searching more appropriate candidates…

 

After the song was sung and the city has risen, he would just flee and let this man deal with things alone.

After all, he was the visible face; the one who would be introduced as the inventor of the Detragan (only known as an instrument by others.) Authorities won’t be interested in chasing after him if they got someone in jail. If everything went according to his plan, sooner or later they will find Whistler, when they were looking for the missing girls. And he knew they won’t find any clue leading to him. The thugs he hired had no clues either.

No one will catch him and he will keep going with his research.

He would destroy the machine before leaving, of course. He won’t leave this invention for someone else to use.

He wondered why Targent haven’t showed up yet.

They had to know. They had spies everywhere.

Perhaps for the moment they were only following Sycamore’s movements. They will find out, eventually. The next time he would probably have to be more careful.

Well, he wasn’t exactly being discrete. Implanting the memories was difficult and he planned then the contest. There was no way that would be ignored by them. Media will cover the events…

It was a competition against them after all… he had to let them know he had bested them…

Layton showed up again. The opera singer was a former student of him.

It seemed like everybody sent him letters asking for help and he was always eager to assist. That little fact would be useful in the future.

This time he was sure he was going to win.

The memories had been successfully transferred to someone, they just didn’t know. In a certain way, it was the dead woman the one who wrote the letter.

It didn’t matter, he asked this woman to sing.

But… He missed something. And Layton didn’t. He and his little blue shadow were there to spoil things.

Just like the last time, things certainly worked in the end, but that didn’t prevent him from raging again.

He wanted to be the one to surpass Targent!

Raymond surely wasn’t happy to hear him say that later.

It sounded sillier when he said it out loud and not being so angry.

Anyhow, the city of Ambrosia raised and he destroyed the machine.

Not _exactly_ as planned, but it worked. He just flee, not totally unharmed.

But next time he should leave his rivalry aside (A good advice from Raymond) or he could really ruin everything. He shouldn’t risk his objective for such a minor thing.

He was getting closer to his objective.

To fulfill the one thing he had been pursuing almost his entire life.

To get his revenge against Targent and the Azran.

_One last ruin to find…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, not much to say about this chapter.  
> I couldn’t add much things of interest here. But I want to finish this story before I start something new.


	5. Clown

After visiting Stansbury, he was following some leads expecting to find the mask. He certainly did not expect to find alive the one who found it first.

He adjusted the plan expecting to obtain the other mask.

He had a personal grudge against this man.

He knew he would enjoy ridiculing him.

It was this man’s fault Layton gained interest in archeology.

After his attempt to keep him away from the Azrans and Targent so long ago.

Again, he wasn’t sure how much he still cared for his brother at that point.

He didn’t care dragging him to his plans anymore… yet he kept in touch with his life and career through the Laytons (and often through the newspapers)

But at that point, Targent was more aware of his plans. Layton was already involved. He was part of this, no matter if he wanted or not.

_He might as well be helpful._ He repeated to himself.

It was fortunate he had found this enthusiastic idiot alive for his plan.

How it was his friends didn’t find him sooner?

If he saw things from another point of view, it was also fortunate this man had influenced Layton to study archeology. If Layton hasn’t been dragged to his previous schemes, the Garden of Healing and Ambrosia might not have been found…

But… it was surely opportune he had fallen and lost his memory.

If he had left alive those ruins with his brother long ago…

Targent would have certainly taken them _both_.

Two young teenagers finding an ancient Azran treasure on their own… definitely, Targent would have tried to recruit them.

And Layton’s life would have been different. He doubted he would have agreed to work for Targent…

Then, have his friend not disappeared, he or the Laytons would have been harm (or killed)

But seeing how easy this dullard was to convince… he would had probably joined Targent willingly.

It was not important now. He should stop wasting time with what-ifs again. They were useless.

Ascot was going to be the bait to obtain the mask of order. He showed enthusiasm to play his role as the Masked Gentleman. He felt like a magician, when in fact he was just a clown.

_Until now, the easiest one to manipulate._

He believed all his lies without questioning them. A complete fool.

Perhaps he should give him the benefit of doubt; perhaps the amnesia was just a part of a more severe brain trauma that made him an easy target for suggestions…

Not that he cared.

And he brought Layton too. That was predictable by then.

There was no point in keeping him away anymore. He was already trapped on this web, like anyone who knew about the Azran. It was a question of time until Targent tried to recruit him too; supposing they were not already watching him.

So he might as well be useful before that occurred. The sooner he ended with everything, the better.

Things were according to the plan, for once

Even if Layton discovered he was in disguise again, this time, he didn’t care. He played along to solve the puzzle, proved the two masks were in fact just one… but this time he just didn’t mind being surpassed. Layton did his work for him, and he didn’t mind wasting time and explained how he discovered him.

Also, the mechanism needed to move a great volume of sand to raise the ruins; thanks to this he fled without difficulties while everybody was busy evacuating the city. They were not going after him.

_Perfect._

But before he left, he made sure that fool _knew_ he has been used. He mocked him.

That was satisfying enough. Whatever happened with him later was not of his concern.

He would not waste more time on it.

He went to see the results. The ruins were there, just as planned.

"Behold! The Nautilus Chamber of Akbadain! It's quite beautiful, wouldn't you say?" He said to Raymond.

As much as he hated the Azrans, he couldn’t help to feel a certain fascination for their technology.

These mechanisms, and the ones in the other ruins, still worked. Things were made to last.

The Azran didn’t have enough by leading their own civilization to destruction; they left these cursed durable mechanisms to make others follow the same end…

Targent appeared. Too fast.

A large group of agents. As if they have been waiting for this.

Probably there were Targent agents hidden on Mont D’or.

But he didn’t expect to see Bronev himself.

He raged, and tried to attack him.

A stupid movement, he had to admit (later).

Raymond was there to save him with a smoke bomb. Things could have gone wrong if he hadn’t acted so quickly.

He lost one of his masks.

Bronev really didn’t know who he was?

Perhaps he didn’t care. Or perhaps there was a long list of candidates. He was probably not the only one with plenty of reasons to resent them.

They were not interested in killing him, though, or they would have shot him. Just like when he was as Sycamore. They just reminded him they were watching him. They caused trouble. They tried to hurt him. But they didn’t kill him.

Either way, he shouldn’t push his luck again like that…

He needed to stay alive enough time to see them destroyed.

And that goal didn’t seemed too far away.

_I am so close now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next will be the last chapter, set during the events of Azran Legacy.
> 
> I’m guessing Descole didn’t know he would find Randall alive. I don’t know what was the original plan before he found him.
> 
> After writing this, I can’t stop thinking, if Descole hadn’t been there with his insane evil plans - for whatever reason, perhaps if he been had killed along with his family or has lost his mind- and Targent had been there looking for the ruins, things would just have been worse for everybody else: Targent probably have taken interest in Layton earlier (they need a competent archeologist), perhaps they would have used worse methods to obtain the mask of chaos/order (and supposing Targent didn’t find Randall, things would have been horrible for Henry and Angela,) to find someone to sing the songs for Ambrosia, and probably they have threatened (even killed) part of the searching team on Misthallery, when looking for the Golden Garden.
> 
> Summer vacations are close; a little rest from work, I will take the time to read all those fanfics I have marked to read later, yay!


	6. Moths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the last chapter.  
> In the end it took me some time to write it.

A letter was enough to make him come to see him.

He was used to lie. He lied effortlessly, no matter the persona he was posing as, and people was easy to convince.

Not everything was a lie. But he also knew what part of the truth was going to be useful. Omissions were necessary sometimes.

Perhaps he was not _always_ a good liar.  Sometimes people just wanted to believe his lies.

Yet this time… it felt… strange, to say at least.

He had never met Layton with this guise. He was a little worried he might recognize him.

But he didn’t. They didn’t.

Or perhaps he knew and was pretending, like in Mont d’Or?

He will find out later, if that was the case.

_It doesn’t really matter, as long as he cooperates._

Did he care for Layton as a brother? As a rival? Was he just another tool for his new plan? A little bit of everything, perhaps.

The news from the letter had certainly caught his interest. He gave him some more details – not every detail he really knew - and proposed to release the “living mummy” from the ice.

The rest of the place was inaccessible - for now - due the extremely low temperature. It would probably change after they finished with their trip.

It didn’t take them too much time to solve the puzzle, but Targent appeared quickly. They have been keeping an eye on him since he set a foot on Froenborg. After all, they had taken control of the Azran ruins, and were competent enough to interpret the same clues that had leaded him to this place.

He hated every time he had to face them, but his blood boiled every time he saw Bronev.

Targent made a little show trying to take the mummy, forcing them to follow their ships and give them chase. But it didn’t take much effort – for Layton and the boy - to aboard their ship.

They were just being annoying, like always, to make them know they were following their steps.

He knew, but perhaps Layton didn’t know. It would be better that way. Another omission, unimportant at the moment.

They would be relatively safe as long as Targent believed their actions were useful to their plans. Things would probably get complicated near the end…

He would have time to figure out what to do by then.

The ships started malfunctioning near Kodh. He knew the legends about this place. It was famous for the frequent accidents; residents were used to see airships crash on the lake. As always, with superstitious people around, the lake was nicknamed The Siren Lake.

They chased after the mummy around the town. An ancient temple rose from the lake.

The mummy looked like a young girl. It ( _It?_ ) was some sort of automaton.

She ( _She?_ ) was able to communicate with them. This didn’t surprise him. But it surprised him _she_ was able to speak English, he had expected he would need to translate _its_ speech.

Just like any Azran invention, it still worked perfectly, even if time has passed. This _girl_ was designed to guide them.

This _girl_ was leading them to a flame and Targent was full of moths.

Was this _girl_ sentient? At least _it_ was designed to make-believe _she_ was.

_She_ introduced _herself_ as Aurora, emissary of the Azran people. They needed to find the Aura stones.

It was very like likely _she_ would stop functioning once _she_ fulfilled _her_ purpose.

_What will you do once you fulfill your purpose?_ A voice in his head asked.

He didn’t have an answer.

_It’s not important at the moment._

Whatever it happened with _it_ was not his responsibility. He has just released _her_ from the ice; he did not program _her_ for a purpose. Whatever happened to _her_ , the Azrans were responsible for it.

The dome showed a map with various locations marked, most of them were near places he had researched over the years. In those places they would find the Aura stones, also known as Azran eggs.

Their first stop was London, where they organized the rest of the trip and obtained some supplies.

Perhaps it was risky to leave the girl -Aurora- walking around London with them while they bought the supplies. But if Targent really wanted to take her, they would have done it on Kodh. And there was little he could do as Sycamore to avoid it.

Before their departure, Layton revealed a Targent mole in Scotland Yard. This was not surprising; they had moles in various places. A reason to work alone –almost alone, Raymond was always at his side-

When everything was done, they were ready to start their journey. He dared to call the Laytons so they could say goodbye to his son. He suspected they knew about his link with Layton, but they respected his wish to keep the secret. That was for the best.

Their first stop was a village, Phong Gi, hidden on a humid jungle. The Aura stone was in possession of the chief of the local tribe. If he had been Descole, he would just have taken the stone and left. But he was Sycamore, so he had to play along while they gained materials to manufacture a pair of glasses – he was not offering his own. Besides, they were useless –

He certainly did not appreciate being insulted. How dare that woman laugh of his hair?

Fortunately it was a quick stop, in no time they were again aboard the Bostonius and not in that humid jungle.

The next stop was an island, San Grio. There were underwater ruins in this place…

But Aurora informed them the Aura stone was not underwater. They had to chase after it by questioning the locals. They had a tradition that made them pass the stone – called a popoño by them - to different people. It was said to bring good luck. It was certainly lucky no one had stolen it before and was available for them to take away.

Two stones so far.

It took them a little more time to find it. He had to admit he was starting to enjoy the travel… And the company.

But that won’t stop him or distract him from his goal.

Aurora was designed to be more human than he thought, as her pale skin was hurt by the intense sunlight. Why in the world did she need to look so human? It was a mystery. The technology they had was amazing.

They also encountered those two Targent agents. But they were so useless and loud it gave him the impression they were sent just to let them know Targent knew his movements. Again, if they wanted to stop them, they would have sent someone more competent and not those two noisy clowns.

How did they find them so soon? They had moles everywhere, yes, but…

_Tsk. Perhaps someone communicates with them?_

However they did it, there was nothing he could really do.  He had to wait and see what would happen in the end.

The next stop was an arid town, Torrido.

The Aura stone was around the neck of a giant wolf, which was terrorizing the locals. With the help of the boy and his unusual language skills - after seeing those two loud Targent agents run away -they learned the wolf was looking for a girl who once saved him.

Again, he had to play along; it would have been easier just to take the stone and leave, wasting no time.

He found himself just enjoying the trip. After all, they also wasted some time to check the information the articles from the World Times gave them, and he did not complain. He was having fun, yes. But again, that won’t change the final result.

Three stones.

When the stone was in their possession, and they were ready to go to their next destination, Aurora remembered something related with this place, as she usually did when the stones were obtained. The Azrans had attempted to change the climate of the area, unsuccessfully.

The next stop was Hoogland, a place with strong winds. They landed in one piece, though. Thanks to Raymond.

Aurora sensed not only the stone, but also an Azran structure.

Once again they found a place full of superstitious people, as they believed sacrificing a bride to the Dragonlord they would calm the winds. Soon they found the young women actually escaped their fate. A local woman helped them; she wanted them to help to convince the newest bride to escape.

They recovered the stone, after fixing the mechanism causing the strong whirlwinds. It seems it had been altered at some point, in unknown circumstances. They also witnessed how the Azran ensured no one will enter their sanctuaries with weapons.

Four stones. One last to recover… the last place to visit was Mossinia.

He had never been in this particular city, but he was familiar with the area, its language and its people. Did he leave this place for the end on purpose? Perhaps.

When they entered the walled city it was deserted. After a while they found a young boy asking for help – he was trying with those two Targent agents – they offered their assistance and he told them the adults had been sleeping for a long time.

This place brought him memories he didn’t want. This boy made him think of how his own daughter would have looked, she should be around his age by…

Distractedly, he spoke out loud. It bothered him; he just cut the question from Layton’s assistant politely, saying it was not the time or place for it.

He didn’t want to start again with his useless thoughts of how his life could have been.

The city was filled with Azrans rests. After solving a series of puzzles and following some leads, they opened the entrance to the library. Have they got some more time, he would have liked to examine the library a little more. It had the recipe for the cure, and explained the cause of the condition.

They have consumed the mushroom that caused that effect, as someone was unable to tell the difference between this one and an edible one, and used them on a meal. They had been lucky they didn’t consume a lethal dose… he would keep some of the mushrooms, they could be useful later. The spores produced the same effect when inhaled.

The elder’s granddaughter came to inform them she was going to give them the Azran Egg.

_Mehri._

He hasn’t pronounced that name in so long.

It was better to leave this place soon. They finally got the five Aura stones…

Or they thought. One has been replaced with a fake.

He was right to suspect someone was keeping an eye on them. And was close enough to take the stone inside the ship without them noticing…

They went to the Azran dome in Kodh, hoping to find the new location marked on its walls.

_The Nest._

Bronev wanted to see them.

It was a disgusting place, its air and water polluted, filled with garbage. They heard shooting.

So Mackintosh had been working for Targent? He was lucky to leave alive. Raymond patched him. He had experience with first aids.

The tallest building surrounded an Azran pillar. There was gold everywhere. The mushrooms he collected were useful to reach the top of the tower, putting the guard to sleep.

Bronev tried to convince Layton to join Targent. It was not surprising, they needed competent people. When Bronev was finally stopped Layton won’t have to worry about his parents.

They obtained the egg again. Meaning Targent would follow them again later. Or follow him; he didn’t need them in the temple, right?

With all the Aura stones in their possession, they finally formed the key. Aurora tried throwing herself from the tower, as she recovered more memories. Her reaction only confirmed the legacy was just a curse.

But it was time for him to leave, when he obtained the key, he revealed himself and flee. It was slightly satisfying to know he had actually deceived him this time.

Layton tried to stop him, but Raymond aided him and they went to the temple in Froenborg. The fact the key was formed was already causing something… people was evacuating the city.

It didn’t take too much time for Layton to appear. Targent appeared quickly too.

He had to hand the key to Bronev. The boy tried to recover it. His assistant revealed to be a Targent mole. Probably it had been she the one to replace the stone with a fake. But at this moment it was irrelevant, really.

Things were just getting complicated.

Why did he save the kid? He didn’t know.

Thinking his death might be near, he finally told Layton he was his brother, and how he ended with the Laytons. If he died, Layton had to finish what he started. Layton understood the true nature of the Azrans.

The Azran Legacy was a curse. And this has been the only way to prove it…

He was alive.

Why in his dream did he speak with Aurora, of all the people who could have appeared?

There was no much time to think about it…

The beams of light were five. If he had actually died they wouldn’t have been able to stop the temple.

A painful experience he would not like to repeat. Aurora told them they were going to die. But between dying and stop the temple or later be killed by the golems along everybody else…

They didn’t die. Aurora did.

The temple was destroyed. He had proved Bronev was wrong.

He said farewell to Layton. Raymond saved him from the falling temple.

He felt certain emptiness. He had finally achieved his life goal, and he had been sure he was going to die not once but twice that day.

While he shared some words with Raymond, he took of his mask for a moment.

But he was not prepared to leave it. He saw his slightly transparent reflection on the window, and he found he still didn’t want to see it. He put the mask back on.

 

It had been so long since…

_I don’t have a plan to follow._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was a little difficult to write the end, mostly because the final events of the game itself confuse me. I am not completely sure if I fully understand how Bronev’s and Descole’s plan were suppose to go inside the temple. Or even before, Bronev was really useless and unable to build the key on his own? Why Descole did give him the key so quickly? Once in the temple with the key, I just don’t know what he was planning to do if Bronev and the others have not appeared.  
> I really just don’t know.
> 
> It seems I like Aurora too much and have to mention her. I wish the games have given us more information about the Azran culture.
> 
> Just to mention, another idea I once had for Descole’s daughter was, perhaps her wife was murdered while she was still pregnant, and the fact he never met his daughter made his madness worse. Anyway, I believe I won’t be writing more about him.
> 
> Thanks for reading until the end.

**Author's Note:**

> The name I choose is the same from a minor character in Mosinnia. Why? There is this scene when he say something like “Mehri, was it?” and she corrects his pronunciation, but I imagined maybe it was because the name meant something to him and he let it pass as an accent issue (I could have choose the name for his daughter too). Also, Sycamore is reminded of his daughter by Umid, He says it’s because she should be about his age if she were alive. We encounter other characters around that age, but it’s Umid the one who triggers his memories. Maybe she looked at least a little like him? Maybe he met her wife on a place close to Mossinia. And then I just had to fill the rest of the story with something, a translator and guide sounded just fine for someone looking for ruins on a place he does not know well.
> 
> It’s never mentioned, I think, but I thought he might not like looking like Bronev after what happened.
> 
> I should choose a name for the daughter too. The end seems a little abrupt and incomplete. But I’m not sure if I should continue or leave this as a one-shot. (Actually, I have half-written chapters on a notebook; I’m a little old fashioned for writing. My idea was to mix Descole/Desmond memories between canon events…) But then again, there are a lot of Desmond-centric fanfics… I feel a little guilty; I usually don’t read them. But maybe I should read them to be sure I’m not repeating what everybody else writes… Let’s just see what happens.
> 
> As you probably noticed, English is not my first language. Feel free to point any mistakes.


End file.
